


A Pocket of Darkness

by antiscians



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blindness, Eyes, Guns, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiscians/pseuds/antiscians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MI6 is raided and Q lands himself in a hostage situation. Bond chooses between letting the culprit go and ultimately injures his Quartermaster in more than one way, resulting in a life changing experience for the both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Naked Eye

The choke hold was more than enough to elicit a gasp of pain from Q, more so when the barrel of the Jericho was dug into the side of his head. His fingers tore at the arm of the criminal holding him tight against his chest, using the young Quartermaster as a shield to prevent 007 from taking any body shots that could have disabled both him and his cause. “I-I’ll shoot him!” The man barked loudly, weary brown eyes signaling a weakness that only weeks of preparation that had blown up in his face could create. He was not as confident anymore about the plan to infiltrate MI6 for the much needed information anymore. They had been duped more than once that day even if they had made it past the lobby and into the Q-Branch where they were to retrieve the Quartermaster’s laptop and dispose of him accordingly.

 

Things had gone awry with the arrival of 007. James kept his gun leveled, ignoring the shouting in his ear from M. “You won’t.” He stated slowly, voice laced with something much more dangerous he had yet to show to the other. The man shifted uncomfortably and staggered backwards, pulling Q by the throat as he went. 

“I’ll shoot the bloody fucker!” He barked this time, conjuring up some sense of confidence in himself even though he doubted his ability to get past the 00 agent alive. Q tried to speak but the pressure on his wind pipe was much too great. He shut his eyes tight and forced his fingers in between the man’s forearm. There was enough space for him to draw in a gulp of air, cheeks reddening from the rush in oxygen. “B-Bond!” The arm seized up around his throat again, pinning his neck and head to the man’s chest. 

007’s nostrils flared, fingers twitching at the trigger as he quickly drew up all the possibilities of the situation at hand. He could fire, risk an injury to his Quartermaster but ultimately kill the other. On the other hand, he could let the man pass for the time being and hunt him down later. However, that again did not guarantee Q’s safety and he was trying hard to find a way to get him out unscathed. 

“S-Shoot him!” Q choked out, eyes welling up with tears again as the man let out a snarl. He wasn’t going to stand here. At this point, it was either run or die. With his arm still pinned firmly around Q’s throat, he grabbed the case he’d risked his life for and moved backwards around the table. He kept Q firmly in between himself and 007’s gun. James’s eyes tracked the two, adjusting his aim accordingly as the other rounded around the desks and back towards the door. 

He pulled one hand away to rip the mic out of his ear. M’s incessant yelling was far beyond distracting. “Don’t move.” He hissed, taking a few, slow steps towards the man. He seemed intimidated by this and he jabbed the barrel into Q’s jaw to reassert the threat. “Not another step, Mr. Bond.” He said, chest heaving up and down. His eyes looked just beyond Bond to see one of his men twitching slowly to his feet. He’d already been shot but it was quite apparent he was very much still alive. 

Q seemed to pick up on the movement as well and his eyes widened in terror. “B-Behin!” He wasn’t able to choke out the full word but it was more than enough of a warning for Bond to whip around to greet the other. The man shot off a round and he managed to move quick enough to leap forward and tackle him to the floor. A cry sounded off behind him and he jerked his head back to see both Q and the other on the ground. Bond turned back long enough to beat the man into unconsciousness before he pulled himself to his feet and crossed the expanse to Q. There was a crunch beneath his feet as he knelt down beside the other. Q’s chest heaved up and down, his hands pressed tight over his left eye. Blood poured in between his fingers while tears gushed from the other. 

“B-Bond…” His voice was hoarse and incredibly weak. A growl escaped 007’s lips and he moved to quickly scoop the other up. “You’re going to need to hold on.” He said without skipping a beat. Q’s head lulled against his chest as he held fast to his eye. 

“I-I can’t see, Bond…” Q whimpered. 

 

There’d been too much blood—even 007 was smart enough to figure that out. The bullet had embedded itself into Q’s eye socket, being stopped by the sphenoid bone at the back of the orbital cavity. James had only understood half of what he’d been told regarding the matter, but gist of the message had been that Q’s skull was abnormally thicker than most. However, that didn’t guarantee much in terms of his left eye. The bullet had ruptured it in the socket itself, turning it into a soupy messy that had slipped away with the blood. Q had been in emergency surgery for many hours, out cold while the medical staff did everything they could to save his eye. Bond had taken it upon himself to remain there for as long as it would take.

 

A part of James felt guilty for having moved. He wondered what would’ve happened if he hadn’t ducked. Most likely, Q wouldn’t be in the position of undergoing immense pain. Had he simply allowed himself to be shot (he was far more used to it than most anyways), Q wouldn’t have taken the brunt of it. He knew there was nothing he could do for now—it was all in time’s hands at this point.

By the time Q had awaken from his surgery, the surgeon and attending physician were more than reluctant to tell him the unfortunate news. For the time being, with James Bond at his side, he murmured sleepy words about weapon designs, disillusioned by the sedatives coursing through his body. Gauze had been wrapped tightly over his eye, limiting any foreign objects from entering in the open wound. It was apparent as well that their intruders had been using explosive rounds. The blood, as James had been told, came from the shrapnel that had been embedded in the skin surrounding the eye socket. 

Fingers tugged at the sleeve of his suit and he turned his head to meet the wayward and tired eye of Q. He was still heavily dosed with his sedatives so nothing much beyond a lop-sided smile came to his lips. James let out a sigh and turned his body to lean more against the guard rail on the bed. “It’s about time you’ve moved.” He said in a gentle voice, moving to pull Q’s fingers from his jacket. He curled them inwards and laid his arm across his belly. “’s…tiring.” Q’s voice was still weak, but it sounded less in pain than it had before. He was a little relieved at this, even with the guilt that was still working to slip into his subconscious. Q shut his eye and let out a slow sigh, brow furrowing downwards. “W-What’s going to happen?” James looked down at him again and felt his stomach churn. He had the option of telling the other right now what had happened or simply…give him a day or two to rest. James was conflicted with this, but he steeled his jaw and settled for leaning over the bed to press his hand against Q’s shoulder. 

He wasn’t sure how to be comforting in this sort of situation, but he supposed that he owed it to his Quartermaster to try. James wouldn’t lie. 

Omission was lying. 

“They weren’t able to save it, Q.” His voice remained steady, but he felt the muscle in Q’s arm tense up as he rolled his head to look at the other. “Your eye. I’m sorry.” There wasn’t ever going to be enough words in any language for James to be able to properly convey how terrible he felt, but he knew this was a start. Q was here because of him.

 

The color drained away from Q’s face as his lips down turned into a grimace of a frown. He quivered and shut his eyes. James’s insides ached as he moved his hand from the other’s shoulder to grab a hold of Q’s hand. 

Q let out a sob and rolled onto his side, pressing the side of his face into the pillow as James shut his eyes. The other’s fingers latched tightly around his and pulled them against his chest. This was the drugs in him; James had to convince himself of that. There was something wholly ground shaking in seeing his Quartermaster—the calm, collected individual—break down before him. James looked away and gave Q’s hand a slight squeeze, eyes turning instead to look up towards the door. Moneypenny stood in the doorway with a bag of food in hand. A frown had creased her lips as well as she shuffled close, setting the bags on the end table before moving to the other side of the bed where she took a seat. Q’s cries had stifled down to loud whimpers, his back heaving and falling with each ragged breath he took. 

“Q…” Her voice was gentle as she pressed her hand against his back, rubbing circles into it. “It’s going to be alright.” Before James had said anything, Q had been the only one to not know of his condition. Q’s body tensed up at her words and he curled into himself more, finally reduced to forced sniffling and heavy breathing. 

“It’s not!” He barked, voice muffled by the pillow as he continued to try and breathe properly. He was nearing hysterics and James’s frown deepened more. He leaned in, despite the look from Moneypenny and rested the side of his head against the guard rail. “Calm down, Q.” His voice was still collected, but it was more than apparent he wasn’t doing too well himself. “You’re going to get through this.”

James could spout off as many words as he wanted regarding the other’s future status, but even he didn’t know what would happen to Q. If he didn’t have the use of both eyes, he imagined that doing his job would be incredibly difficult. James could hardly pass the basic exams as it was (one eye shut, the other open); having the permanent loss of an eye was perception changing. 

Q’s entire world would no longer look the same.


	2. In Distress

His head was pressed to the table, a takeout box near his elbow and an empty glass of water near the other. He was tired of everything. It’d been just over three months. Q could barely walk (he kept tripping over his own feet) and his ability to judge distances had suffered tremendously. He couldn’t even count how many times he’d stuck his hand out to grab the door knob of any door, only to miss. The sheer frustration of his inability to adapt to his new (and forced) lifestyle had done a number on his self-esteem.

“Q.” James had piped up after watching his Quartermaster sit like this for nearly fifteen minutes. It was dead quiet except for the silent tapping of James’s shoe against the kitchen floor. Q stirred slightly, fingers curling into his palms as he pushed himself up, his one eye moving to fall upon the 00 agent. “I don’t suppose you could leave.” Q stated flatly, sliding his arms from the table and into his lap. James stopped chewing and furrowed his brows. “Leave?”

“Yes, Bond. Leave. As in get up and go home.” He scowled and leaned back in his chair, running his fingers over the skin below the missing eye. He’d taken to getting a glass eye to normalize his appearance, but it didn’t do what he wanted. To him, it even looked too fake. 

James put his fork down and swallowed the last of his bite before clearing his throat. “Have I done s-“ He was cut off. 

“No.”  
“Then why is it—“ Again.  
“Because I want to be alone.” 

James hesitated on speaking again, his face scrunching up more before he let out an irritated sigh. “Alright then.” He pushed the plastic fork into the container more and flipped the lid shut before tossing back the rest of his water. Q watched him the entire time with a less than pleased expression. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Bond rose to his feet and scooped the container up. Q didn’t reply, but rather he shrugged his shoulders as if he’d debated even bothering to go tomorrow. 

Bond sighed. “Okay then.” He lifted his eyebrows and turned, shuffling out of the small kitchen and around the corner. Q waited until he heard the door click before he allowed his head to drop hard against the table. The fork near him clanged as it bounced. 

He remained this way for a while until he felt his insides ache with the frustration of knowing he couldn’t fix the situation. He slid out from the table and crawled to his feet, hand moving to latch onto the table for support as he went. Q’s hand missed and he nearly fell. 

“Damnit!” He barked, having fallen into the table as he shut his eye tight. His head throbbed angrily at him before he moved down to the floor, pulling his legs into his chest as he pushed his hands through his hair. What use was he if he could hardly use his hands properly? Half his sight meant he could only do his job half as good. Surely, MI6 would not take his decrease in productivity too well?

\--

James had lingered outside the front door with his ear cocked towards the opening. It was silent inside but he could only imagine what the other was attempting to deal with. He let out a sigh and slid his hand from the knob to continue on down the way. Q needed time—Moneypenny had reiterated to him that point several hundred times throughout the course of the previous day. He’d merely dismissed her comments but now, he wasn’t so sure. 

Q didn’t seem to be taking it very well and while he understood that, it had changed the Quartermaster completely. 

\--

Night had fallen around six o’clock and Q had, for lack of anything better to do, gathered all the pillows in the flat that he could (including the cushions from the couch) and thrown them into the middle of the sitting room. His computers and monitors lay untouched in the corner of the room as he lay sprawled out. At some point, he’d changed from his trousers into night clothes and allowed his hair to get unruly in its shape. He had no reason to care, did he? Of course not. 

He squirmed slightly to adjust the positions of the cushions below him until he reached a hand up to graze a finger over the hard surface of the prosthetic eye. He swallowed hard, feeling his nose tingle slightly with the feeling of loss. He knew what it was like to lose people, but he had never once considered losing a part of himself. 

He shut his other eye and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eye with a bit of a grimace before he slid the tray to the side and dug it out with his index finger. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to take it out (as he’d been informed by his doctor) but it was good practice so the skin would get used to the feeling of it. He turned it over in his hand and made a face at it. He could see how it could look real to the untrained eye, but something in and of itself not only gave him shivers, but made him want to smash it. His nerves about going anywhere without it, however, kept him from doing anything that irrational. 

He ran his thumb over the iris and pupil on it. It looked, in color, to be his own, but it wasn’t. It was a goddamn chunk of acrylic. He groaned and enclosed it in his palm before dropping his hands down onto his pile of cushions. He forced his eye back open and a cold sensation worked its way into the cavity of his eye. It grew irritating quickly and he opted for shutting both of his eyes. 

He let out a slow breath and steeled his jaw. “Better shape up.” He muttered to himself. “…Bond will get himself killed if you don’t.” It was an attempt to motivate himself into doing something other than brooding but it hadn’t worked. He rolled over and curled up into himself, the prosthetic eye pressed between his fingers and palm and stuffed against his chest. “…Bond’ll kill himself anyways.” He tucked his head down and let out a slightly choked noise. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this.


End file.
